Dim's Brother
by Nephiee
Summary: Anderson's half-brother is in town, and Sherlock's less than excited to meet him, but who would have expect what a treat John Watson would turn out to be. Set during Study in Pink. John/Sherlock pairing with M rated chapters!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! :D I've decided to start my own Sherlock/John story, but I don't know how I did at being Sherlock. His mind is more intricate than mine is, so it was difficult to write. I don't think I did it justice. I hope writing John will be easier. That reminds me, I'll be switching point of view a lot through this story, and not with a pattern. I could switch in the middle of a chapter, and I could have Sherlock tell his share for four chapters then John has one. It depends on who needs to speak.**

**Anyway, here we go!**

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><p><strong>Sherlock's P.O.V<strong>

"You can't see the body yet." Lestrade grabbed my shoulder, his hand holding me in place. If it had been anyone else I probably would have continued into the crime scene.

Or broken their arm.

But Lestrade's lucky, because I like him, well tolerate him. "And why not? I thought I was called so I could do what you so-called 'police officers' can't?"

"Hold your horses; we're just waiting for a doctor." He let go of my shoulder, but I knew he didn't want me to move. I hated being told what to do, even if it wasn't verbally, so I shuffled around, almost pacing, but more of a rocking with how little space I was moving in.

"Why do I have to wait? Anderson's here." I indicated the rat-like man with my eyes.

"We're waiting for Anderson's brother actually." From the obvious excitement on his face and the way he kept rubbing his hands on his trousers, I could tell that he was happy about this doctor's visit. I couldn't see why. Not only did I have to wait for him, but the thought of being in the room with another Anderson was sickening. The only thing that stopped me for voicing my complaints was the nasally voice of Sally Donovan.

"I don't think we even need the freak." Sally hissed, using that 'freak' insult as if it wasn't completely unoriginal. I've either heard them all before, or have thought of them before her.

"Is your wife away for long?" I inquired my attention on Anderson, ignoring Donovan completely. She never liked it when I did that. I could practically feel her fuming next to me.

"Don't pretend like you worked that out yourself. Somebody told you." Oh, Anderson, as if I ever really need to ask anyone about anything. I thought he would have figured it out already… I'm a genius.

"Your deodorant told me." I saw the confused expression on his face, but didn't elaborate yet. It was fun to watch the boring squirm. It was a break from their dreariness.

"It's for men." I lifted by eyebrow in a challenge. I knew that wouldn't help them, but it was still entertaining to watch them try.

"Of course it's for men. I'm wearing it." Anderson scoffed, acting like he was in control of the situation.

"So is Sergeant Donovan. Ooh... I think it just vaporised." They stood, frozen, gaping at me like two fish out of water. It took them a minute but Anderson eventually attempted to compose himself.

"Now look, whatever you're implying…"

"I'm not implying anything." I interjected as innocently as possible. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floor, going by the state of her knees." I glanced down at the Sally's rug burned knees. It was not a good day to wear a skirt.

Neither could even try to defend themselves before a new voice chimed in from behind me. "She scrubbed the floors all night. In the kitchen, living room, bathroom, really everywhere except my room and Dim and Marie's room. He had her in the guest room… Scrubbing." The owner of the voice was a shorter, blonde man with a cane, though while he stood there, just outside the group, he favoured neither leg. As if his leg didn't trouble him.

Psychosomatic obviously.

"Fag." Sally murmured under her breath, loud enough for all of us to hear her, except Lestrade, who wandered off to speak with another officer. I couldn't deduce if this John was really gay, or Sally was just being her usual self. It shouldn't have matter to me, but for some reason I was curious.

"Sally, your amazingly witting insults do cut me deeply." I couldn't help but smirk.

I continued to take him in, determine what I could about him, which was a lot. This man was a lot like an open book. He should learn to hide something.

"John!" Lestrade exclaimed from beside me, walking towards the man, John, with open arms. This, apparently, was the doctor… And Anderson brother. Their hug was the typical 'man' hug, filled with back smacking, chuckles and hips pointed away from each other.

Even though there were no obvious romantic feelings between the two, it didn't stop Anderson from pretending to gag…

"Sherlock," Lestrade spoke, once John and he had broken away from each other, bringing my attention back to the doctor. "This is Anderson's older brother." I could see no physical resemblance between the two, which was a plus on John's side since Anderson was a very unattractive man, and I didn't feel like throwing John off the side of a bridge yet, so another point in his favour.

"I prefer not to be introduced as Dim's brother." Dim, a nickname of sorts.

Dim: Lacking in brightness or slang for dull. It was a very accurate nickname.

Obviously there was no love lost between the brothers.

Sticking out his hand, he continued to introduce himself. "I'm John, John Watson." Different last name, so either half-brothers or stepbrother, I was leaning towards half-brother because of the hostility between the two. One of them would have pointed out the 'step' part.

I took his hand gingerly in my own, feeling the rough skin, from handling a gun from what I have seen. "Sherlock Holmes." Was my simply reply.

"Oh, I know!" He seemed very excited, even though Lestrade had probably told him about me. "Lestrade told me about you." I was right. Of course, I was. "So I looked you up, and found your website. Is it true you know 140 different types of tobacco ash?"

People were usually shocked when I mention what I do, not because they believe it's outstanding, which it is, they're more shocked that I took time to learn all the different types. Because of that, I replied curtly, "Yes."

"That's bloody amazing!" John cried, startling me. This man, that barely knows me but I know many things about, startled me. Me, the Sherlock Holmes.

"Thank you." I answered politely, not sure how to reply besides the normal expression of gratitude that people used. I wasn't use to praise. I looked towards Lestrade, wanting to move onto something else. "Lestrade, can I borrow your phone?" He wouldn't have his personal phone on his at the moment.

"Sorry mate, other jacket."

"You can use mine." John chimed in, handing me his phone. Taking it, I analysed it the best I could without turning it over in my hands. It told me even more about this John. I shot off a quick text and handed it back to John without a word to him.

It was time to get on with business "Can we go see the body now?"

"Oh, yes, let's." John grinned, clapping his hands together, his cane leaning against his hip. When he was distracted he didn't even need the cane. I stored that away in my recently made John folder. A folder that would be erased if he ended up being anything like his brother.

"We really should go up before John starts humping Sherlock's leg." Everyone ignored Anderson.

"Sorry about the wait, this prat," John motioned to Lestrade with his free hand as we made our way towards the building. "Decided to call after Sally and Dim left so I had to find my own way here."

"That's because no one told me you were around." Lestrade chuckled, holding the door open for John and me. They seemed to be good friends, which was a good sign for John. Lestrade was a good sort of fellow, the type I can stand and if he liked John, maybe he was alright. Then again, Lestrade was very trusting of most people.

I needed to investigate further before making up my mind about John.

"Iraq or Afghanistan?" I asked, wanting to show off just a bit more.

John stopped, looking at me from the stair below. We were moving slowly, and as much I wished to just run up these stairs, I knew it was the social protocol to wait for the other two, even if one hobbled along slowly. "Afghanistan. How did you know that?" He had the look on his face that people got when I dissected their lives piece by piece.

"I also know you're an army doctor, recently invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother, not Anderson but one that you're fully related to, who's concerned about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him - possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. You're still closer to him than you are with Anderson though. And I know your therapist thinks your limp is at least partially psychosomatic - quite correctly, I'm afraid. Now, we have a dead woman to examine!" It was always the best idea to leave them wondering, then stay there and be forced to explain how I know what I know.

"Yeah, he's really like that." I heard Lestrade tell John before they continued up the stairs.

I waited in the doorway, rocking on my heels as I peered in at the woman, making deductions even at such a distance. It took John a couple more minutes to catch up to me and by the time he finally reached me, I was ready to pounce on the corpse.

What he said about her death was nothing I didn't already know. It was a poisoning, supposed to seem like a suicide, but then, why was she in this place? Why did she leave a note? A note that only consisted of scratches on the floor.

"That's the difference from the other deaths." Lestrade told me, very unhelpfully I might add.

_Rache._ My mind began to look through itself, looking for an explanation for _rache. _I knew it was German for revenge, but why would this woman write that? There was no reason, so maybe she didn't finish the word. The way her nail dug into the wood implied that there was still more.

"It's _rache_, German word for revenge." Anderson's irritating vove grated through the air towards me.

I opened my mouth to insult his intelligence, but John beat me to it. "Shut it, Dim." He hobbled over to the door. "Why would she write 'revenge' with the last of her strength? It's obviously Rachel or something unfinished." And with that he shut it in his face, before turning back to the astonished me. "It is Rachel right? I didn't just make a fool of myself?"

"I believe so. How did you know?" I had figured it out, but I was slightly impressed that John also did. This man was nothing like his brother.

"I'll tell you that, if you tell me how you knew so much about me," He compromised, grimacing as he got himself into a kneeling position by the body, and across from me. My eyes took him in again, but instead of making anymore deductions, I thought about how he was an attractive man. I didn't usually notice appearances, unless important to the case. So why would I notice the way John look?

I just disregarded it as being tired. I hadn't slept in the last couple days, too busy with my experiments. "I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. Lestrade said a doctor was coming, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists - you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair, or favour either leg when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That suggests the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic - wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan - Afghanistan or Iraq."

"You mentioned a therapist?" He wanted me to continue, many would want me to stop by now. Many were scared I would reveal their darkest secret, and sometimes I did.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course, you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone - it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But see, like a simple man, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches - not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already."

"The engraving?" He was grinning at me. Very strange man.

"Harry Watson - clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father - this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero whose only place to live is with Anderson. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so another brother it is. Now, Clara - who's Clara? Three kisses say romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently - this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then - six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do 'sentiment'. But no, he wanted rid of it - he left her. He gave the phone to you, which says he wants you to stay in touch."

He hasn't told me to stop so I continued. "You're living with Anderson and you're not going to your other brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"The drinking?" He still wanted me to go on.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection - tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them."

"How did you know about Dim?"

"The half-brothers part was easy, different last names and not physical resemblance. I could have said step siblings, but one of you would have pointed that out. You call him Dim, which, with the way you talk to him, means you're not very close. Also, he's Anderson, why would anyone really want to be close to him?" And that was it.

He stared at me over the dead woman's body. I was frozen under his gaze, awaiting his reaction to my deductions.

"That was brilliant! Bloody brilliant!" He exclaimed, laughing.

"You think so?" I asked, once again surprised by this man.

"Of course, it was incredible."

"That's not what people usually say."

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss-off." And with that we bother broke out in laughter. I like this man. He was someone I could be around with for a length of time without wanting to throttle. He was clever, amusing and understood my greatness.

Lestrade took that moment to enter the room. "So what do you know?"

I took my time explaining to him about her marriage that was in rough shape, which led to her many lovers. I told him everything I could with what I had. I talk about her clothing, hair, skin and the word carved into the floor, but there was something missing.

"So that's it?"

"No, there's also mud splattered on her legs…"

I hoped he'd catch on. "So?" He didn't.

"So!" I cried, my hand flying out in front of me, as if proving how important that one fact was.

"Where's her case?" I spoke, the same moment John did, who said the same thing as me. I whipped around to face him, once more baffled.

"Whoa, that was weird."

We both ignored Lestrade. "How did you know about her case?" I knew how I knew, but how did he know?

"You mentioned the mud on the back of her legs and it all clicked. Her coat is wet, meaning she's been in rain lately, but it didn't rain here, so she's from out of town. I watched the weather channel this morning with full volume for over an hour to drown out the sound of Sally's 'scrubbing', so I know that the only place that had rain and was close enough that she wouldn't have dried was Cardiff. If she's a serial adulteress like you said, she was probably here to meet one, or a couple of her lovers, meaning weekend trip. So… Where's her suitcase?"

I couldn't speak. This man… This John…

"I think you've met your match Sherlock." Lestrade laughed, smacking me on the back in a playful sort of way. "And you thought he'd be like Anderson." I was completely wrong there, and I was, for once, relieved to admit it.

"I see." I turned away from John, who looked at me, almost begging for some sort of praise. I don't think he knew that he was giving me those bloody puppy dog eyes, but they were almost unbearable to look directly at. "Very good." I had to throw him over my shoulder to stop his stare from digging into my back anymore. "Now, where's her suitcase?" I poised the question again.

"There's no case." Lestrade shook his head, moving to help John up off the ground. I had the urge to smack myself for not doing that, which was strange. Since when do I want to help people?

"There has to be a case!" I hissed through my teeth.

"And I'm telling you, my men searched this place from top to bottom, and there's no case."

"Well then I have to go find it, don't I?" I huffed, leaving the room in a hurry. I was halfway down the stairs when a thought hit me making me rush back up. I was met with John, who was beginning his careful descent down the steps. "I'm going to look for the case, the killer had to have dumped it somewhere close by when he noticed he still had it. Want to come?" I can't believe I was offering.

"Oh god yes, anything to get away from Sally's floor scrubbing. She's been over every night since Marie left." John's smile was so large it was almost blinding. He was a very happy man, even at a crime scene.

"It will be faster if we split up. You'll have to check every dumpster you see." He just nodded, unfazed by the thought of dumpster diving. John was already on my good side. Anderson had found his way into my 'Dislike' folder after five minutes, and John had done the exact opposite. "Give me your phone, I'll enter my number, and you take mine. If either of us finds anything we contact the other and we can meet up at my flat, alright?"

"Perfect." He eagerly gave me his phone, and I gave him my own. My fingers brushed his hands, touching that calloused skin again, enjoying the slight touch much more than I should have, and it scared me.

"Alright," We nodded to each other once we bother had our respective phones. Instead of dashing down to the street, I slowed down and made my way down with John.

I really had no idea why I was doing that either. A lot seemed to confuse me that night, and it was all the fault of John Watson.

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><p><strong>Please tell me what you think! I'm going crazy! I hope it was well like, because I've already started the next two chapters, but I need some feedback!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter twooooo! I'm really happy about how fast I wrote this.**

**It's slightly shorter than the other, I think, but I didn't feel like I had as much to say with John. He was harder than I thought he would be to write, but I got through it! **

**Oh, and to all the British people reading this, and maybe just British language lovers, I am not English, so I'm not too sure about your slang. I found out just a couple weeks ago that the word pants meant underwear in Britain! Anyway, what I'm getting at, if anything doesn't make sense, or would be better with a different British word, please tell me! Please, it would be so helpful!**

**Thanks for everyone who Reviewed, Alerted and Favourited this story! A great response already! And I answered unsigned reviews at the bottom. I don't know how long I'll be doing that, but because you're the first amazing ones, I had to!**

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><p><em><strong>John P.O.V<strong>_

He was as amazing as I expected. I read his website after Greg mentioned him, and I couldn't help but be immediately intrigued by him. The entire idea of Sherlock Holmes was intriguing. I wanted to meet him, and when I finally did, he did not disappoint. And I didn't just think that because he looked amazing in that coat… That was just a small portion of it. Who would look good in a coat like that except him? Well, him and Jack Harkness.

My thoughts were filled of him as I hobbled away from the crime scene. I kept my eyes open for a pink suitcase, pink because, well she had to match. I tried to not let my thoughts of Sherlock Holmes get in the way of finding a very important aspect of this case. I couldn't mess up, not when he went out of his way to invite me. I was hoping for that too, since I was trying so hard to impress him while we looked at the body.

I was surprised that I got as much as I did about the woman. I'm not as clever as Sherlock, I just watch a lot crime shows and do the puzzles in the daily paper.

"Need a ride?" A cab pulled up next to me, window down exposing an older man. His smile showed his crooked teeth, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't his teeth that make my stomach do flip-flops.

"No, thanks," I refused as graciously as possible, walking away from the cabbie, to an alley as quickly as I could with my lame leg.

"You sure?" He called, over to me. I felt guilty about my gut feeling about him, but not only did I not need a ride, but I wouldn't have got in the cab with him in the first place.

"Positive, but thanks." I yelled back before slipping into the narrow alley. He didn't follow, which was a relief. There were smaller dumpsters lined along the walls of this alleyway, meaning I didn't have to jump into any of them. That was beneficial, because my leg wasn't the best for climbing, but that wasn't going to stop me from jumping at the chance of working with Sherlock Holmes.

I didn't have to look for long. I had just finished checking each of those dumpsters when my phone vibrated. _Found it. Meet me 221B Baker St. -SH. _I was surprised he actually texted me, and gave me his address. I was prepared to be discarded by the famous Sherlock Holmes unless I found the case. From what Lestrade told me that sounded like something he would do.

I hurried to the main road, where I caught a cab, which was, thankfully, not driven by the man that had given me the willies. Arriving at Baker Street in about ten minutes, the traffic pretty light for a Friday night, I paid the driver, and made my way the door marked 221B.

I was buzzed up and made my way slowly up into Sherlock's flat. I found, said man, going through the contents of the pink suitcase, not even acknowledging my existence as I stood in the doorway, taking off my jacket, revealing my favourite wool jumper. Not that I expected anything different. He was busy.

"Find anything?" I asked, decided to break the silence.

"It's what I haven't found which is important. Come here, tell me what's missing." He motioned me over with his overly boney hand. This man needed to eat something.

I dug around the stuff, mostly clothing inside the bag, while Sherlock flopped himself on the couch. "I see what she's not missing. Look at these." I held up one of the many lacy thongs that were packed. "Classy." But what did I expect this woman to bring to meet one of the men she was cheating on her husband with.

"Catch!" I pulled one side of the scandalous underwear back and flicked it towards Sherlock, hitting him on the nicely chiselled cheekbone.

He let out a sound that was very similar to a squeal, knocking the article to the floor. "That's disgusting! You don't know if that was cleaned." He whined, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand, as if removing any sort of diseases that it might have carried.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," I laughed, picking up the thong and placing it back in the bag.

"Let's just get back to the case…" He huffed, wiping his cheek as he spoke. I was a little worried I had actually upset him, but I didn't have a lot of time to think it over, because another people made their appearance at that moment.

"Sherlock, you have a guest and you didn't even offer refreshments! It's a good thing I'm here!" An exuberant older woman exclaimed as she entered the flat without knocking. She was carrying a tray with a tea kettle and some biscuits, and since Sherlock didn't move from the couch, I took from her. It was an awkward task since I had to lean my cane against my hip to take the tray in both hand, then maneuver the tray, without spilling anything, onto my one hand and elbow so I could use my cane to make it toward coffee table. I only dropped on biscuit, which the woman was nice enough to pick up for me.

And that's what I got from being a waiter through high school. I looked towards Sherlock, waiting for some sort of introduction. He, eventually, got the message. "Mrs. Hudson, this is John. John this is Mrs. Hudson."

I held out my hand, having to introduce myself, since Sherlock was apparently was not the best in social situations. "Hello, ma'am, I'm Dr. John Watson, Sherlock's friend." It might have been a bit early to introduce myself as his friend, and by the way his eyes flashed towards me Sherlock thought so too, but I couldn't call myself a colleague or something of that caliber.

"Just Mrs. Hudson, please, I'm Sherlock's landlady," She grinned back at me. "And you're a doctor? You snagged yourself a doctor Sherlock?"

"I didn't 'snag' anything." Sherlock scoffed, and began riffling through the case again. I don't think he really understood what she meant.

"Oh, no, we're just friends. Actually, we just met a couple of hours ago." I corrected her, snatching one of the cookies she had brought us.

"Well, Sherlock is a very nice young man, you should really consider it."

"It's not that, but as if I could get myself a man like Sherlock." I chuckled, knowing Sherlock could hear me, but he would probably just think I was joking. I really wasn't.

"I could put in a good word or two with him." She was really pushing this.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled, slapping the arm of the couch. "I'm thankful for the tea, but do not try and play matchmaker again." Again? "John is just a colleague who probably doesn't appreciate you trying to push a relationship that will never happen on him."

I tried to ignore how much that hurt. I understood that I didn't measure of what Sherlock wanted in a partner, but what was really wrong with me? Was it just gender, or did I have some terrible quality I didn't know about?

There was a loud ringing from down the stairs. "Oh, there's the phone, probably the florist. I've been waiting for them to call for over an hour now." A relieved looking Mrs. Hudson scurried off, out of the flat, leaving me alone with Sherlock.

"Phone," I repeated, mulling the word over in my mind. "Where's her phone?" I finally got it. She was an adulteress, a woman in the modern day, and by the state of most of her belonging, she wasn't lacking in the financial department, so of course she would have a phone. "It wasn't on the body, so where is it?"

"That, is exactly what I'm wondering. Now, be a dear and pour me some tea, no sugar and just a dash of milk." I did, probably because I didn't want to discuss the conversation that Mrs. Hudson and I just had. I didn't want to go anywhere near it. Sherlock having something to do with his mouth would probably help keep us away from that topic.

I sat on one of the chairs opposite to the couch, the one that wasn't being occupied by what looked like a human hand and a rabbit in a cage. "Is that a human…?" I trailed off, waving at the cage with my own hand.

"Yes, yes, it is," Sherlock nodded, completely nonchalant about having a human hand in his living room.

"Why?" I couldn't help but ask as I sipped my tea.

"It's for an experiment, and before you ask, the results are inconclusive." I was going to probe for more information, but thought it best that I didn't know.

"So where did you find the case?" I just wanted him to continue speaking, but he didn't seem like he was about to contribute to the conversation, unless I posed a question for him.

"It was just around the corner. I knew it would be close, it was pink." I gave him a blank look. Why did the colour matter? I was a bit ashamed I couldn't figure that out, because form the look he gave me, he thought I would have too. "The murder couldn't have been seen with a pink case, so had to dump it quickly."

"Fantastic!" This man really was as smart as I heard.

"You said that quite loudly, even though it's just the two of us."

"Sorry, I'll stop that." I turned my head, embarrassed.

"No, no, it's okay. Just fine." He didn't want to stay on that topic for long. "Oh, and thank you for your help finding the case, even though in the end I didn't really need it."

It sounded like he was thanking me, in the most discourteous way possible. "Oh, it was nothing. I found a very nice jumper in one of the dumpsters." Sherlock glanced down at the jumper I currently wore, appalled by it. "I didn't keep it!" I quickly explained, setting down my tea to shake my hands in front of myself. "I just checked the tags, which were left on, so I know where I can pick one up. Who would throw out a perfectly good jumper?" Now that thought was disgusting.

"I think we can see Lestrade tomorrow about the phone. They would be very busy at the Yard with paperwork, and I don't want to get mixed up with that," He stated, ignoring my question and me overall as he sent off texts on his phone.

"Oh, sounds good," I agreed, blowing some air out of between my teeth, I grabbed my cane. "I guess I should get going if you don't need me." As much as I dreaded it, he couldn't want me around anymore.

"Sally should be with Anderson's, correct?" I didn't need to answer that, he already knew. "The thought of going back to that must be nauseating, so I propose you stay here tonight." Stay in Sherlock Holmes flat. With Sherlock Holmes. In his flat. I might have had a mini aneurism as I processed his offer.

"Stay here?" I had to check to make sure I understood what he said.

"Yes, there's a spare bedroom upstairs, and in the morning you can run to Anderson's for new clothes and whatnot, before coming back so we can have an early start. It seems like the most logical option to me." A spare bedroom, now I understood. The place my mine went was completely different than what he was actually proposing.

"That sounds great!" I agree, probably with too much enthusiasm from the way Sherlock smirked. "I mean, it sounds a whole bloody lot better than hearing Sally faking her orgasms and Dim screaming 'Yes!' every couple seconds in that annoying voice he has."

"Yes, 'a whole bloody lot' better," His nose scrunched up while he smiled, and I couldn't help but think about how adorable that was, and wonder what faces he made when he… I forced myself to stop thinking about that. I couldn't have perverted thoughts about the man that just saved me from a night of watching the weather channel. No matter how adorable he was, or how nice his hair looked. Or how much I wanted to rip that incredible jacket off him.

"You also saved me from another cab ride. I'm not made of money. There is a reason I'm living with Dim. Of course, I'm searching for a place." That made his head snap up away from his phone towards me.

"I'm out at all hours of the night; sometimes I don't sleep at all. I might not talk for days when I have something on my mind. I play the violin when I'm thinking and I don't clean or make my own tea. Any of that bother you?" He raised his eyebrows. I hoped I knew where he was going or else I would be making a fool of myself.

"I'm a gay, war veteran with a limp that has nothing to do with the bullet wound in my shoulder. I have way too more jumpers than a man my age should own. I'm sociable and sexually active man, so I do have _relations _with other men." I stopped for a moment, before adding. "And I would expect to be involved in your cases, even just as an assistant. That bother you?" I challenged back.

"When would you like to move in?"

"As soon as possible."

"Tomorrow?"

"Sounds great."

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><p><strong>Yes… I definitely threw a Torchwood reference in there, just because I could.<strong>

**Jessssticle- Thank you so much! Saying that you think I did a good job with Sherlock is great for my confidence!**

**MagicLock- I thought a slightly cleverer John would be fun to play with. Thank you for the review!**

**Aset- Thanks for kind words, but I'm not too sure what you mean by the name.**

**Alice- I'm definitely going to be writing more. Thanks for the review! :)**

**Thanks again everyone, and remember: reviews make me write faster! Well that and fast beat songs that I can type to.**


	3. Chapter 3

**C-Ch-Ch-Ch- apter threeeeee! Finally. **

**I'M SORRY… Really I am! I'm also an asshole. I was getting all these super nice review, and just didn't write. It was only supposed to take me a couple of days, since I had 1000 words done, but it took way longer than that! And I don't know why!**

**Still, thanks everyone for reviewing, alerting and favouriting! I'm glad you like me! Even if I am an ass! Complete ass. **

**Oh and I wrote a lot of this while I was really tired, so please, please, point out any errors. I am doing this beta-less. Just me and my spellcheck!**

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><p><em><strong>John's P.O.V<strong>_

The rest of our evening was filled with silence; the only sounds were the flipping of the pages of a medical journal I found and the constant tapping of the keys on his phone.

The only time that was broken was when I announced I would be heading to bed, even though it was only nine, which was followed by him telling me that there were extra blankets in the hall closet and that my new room was right up the stairs.

My goodnight was only answered by a grunt while he continued texting. Apparently this is what he meant when he said he sometimes didn't talk for days. It made me think what I would do for the times that he was silent. I needed to get a job and would have to buy a telly for this place. What man didn't have a telly in this day and age?

I didn't have any sort of sleeping clothes on me, seeing as it's not something I just carried around, so I just stripped down to my boxers. I slid into the bed I recently made, and was a disappointed by the dusty smell. I was hoping for more of a Sherlock smell too them, but they must have either been in the closet too long, or never used.

Despite knowing that, I buried my face in the pillow. It had been where Sherlock lived, and now where I lived.

That beautiful man invited me to live with him. Totally platonically, but that didn't stop my mind from wondering to all the things I wanted to do to him. Him, and his bloody cheekbones. They looked like they could cut glass, that didn't discourage the numerous fantasies that I've been forming all night about how I wanted to rub parts of my body against that chiseled face.

Just the mere thought of being able to touch, or rub against, Sherlock was enough to make me twitch in my shorts. I quickly glanced around, as if checking for someone. I knew there wouldn't be anyone, but that didn't stop my embarrassment.

Why was I embarrassed? This was now my room, and I could do as I pleased in my room. It was still uncomfortable thinking about Sherlock, while he was right down stairs. I was sick, because even with that fact, I still couldn't stop think about him in various positions, most of which I probably got from Karma Sutra I read about a year ago…. Just out of curiosity.

My thoughts didn't totally revolve around that though. I also thought of the way his hand felt in mine when we shook hands. His calloused finger tips, probably from playing the violin, but the palm just so soft. I could just imagine those running along my body, touching me the way my hand had begun to, even without my consent.

I took a deep breath, before gripping my length through my boxers, and the air in my lungs expelled loudly. I worked myself over the boxer for a time, before slipping beneath, the entire time imagining Sherlock doing this, not me pathetically wanking off the floor above him.

Sherlock was a very observant person, meaning I was trying to be extra careful about the sounds I was making. My whimpers were turning into moans and I could hear myself panting loudly mixed with the sound of my hand moving. The hand that was currently not engaged in a different activity, covered my mouth, trapping any random groans or calling out that could make life with Sherlock embarrassing.

I lasted an embarrassingly short amount of time, but my hips were thrusting into my tight fist, Sherlock's name a whisper on my lips. I had to stop myself from crying out when my orgasm ripped through my body. Obviously it's been too long since I had anyone. I should get on that.

Or get on someone… Bad joke. That wasn't even funny, really that was pathetic, showing how tired I was when thinking it.

Tired enough to completely disregard the mess in my boxers, and just rolled over, even if the movement felt disgusting. Closing my eyes, I sighed into the dust smelling pillow, and started to drift off. The last thought in my mind was not Sherlock, surprisingly, but was about how uncomfortable and awkward it was going to be in the morning since I had no extra clothes on me.

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><p>I woke up the next morning exactly as I had predicted, crusty and uncomfortable. It was awful. I had to do a slight waddle down the stairs in just my boxers. Sherlock was in the same spot he had been the when I left him, he didn't even take notice of me when I came down the stairs. That was a good thing at the moment though. I snuck into bathroom, and gave myself as thorough of a washing I could without getting in the shower.<p>

"Sherlock?" I prodded once I was done in the bathroom. I had no idea if he had actually slept the previous night. There was a possibility he hadn't since he was still wearing his clothes from the previous day, and he was still in the spot I had left him.

He just hummed in response. His hands were clasped in from of his face, fingers against his lips. He was obviously deep in thought, and I felt a bit bad for breaking him out of thought, but I needed to talk to him about the day.

"Sherlock," I called again, placing myself directly in front of him. I waved my hands in front of his open, unblinking eyes. He was starting to scare me.

Finally, he blinked, and his eyes darted towards me, taking in my scandalously clad body, making me very self-conscious about standing there in just my boxers.

"Yes, John?" He glanced up at me, completely unfazed by my nakedness. Not that I wanted him to be fazed by it…

"I was just going to tell you that I'm going to run over to Dim's apartment, grab my necessities, and leave the rest for later. I'll meet you back here and we can go to the Yard yeah?"

"Yes, yes, that's fine. I don't see what you had to interrupt my thinking just for that. You could have left a note." Sherlock shrugged me off.

"And what have you been thinking about all night?" I challenged.

"The case." He countered.

"All night? I don't think that's possible."

"Anything else I have thought about is not your concern." He was getting defensive. I just wished I could understand what was going on in that mind of his.

"Alright, fine," I backed off, stepping away from the man. He was right, I shouldn't be prying.

His eyes once against glanced at my bare torso, making goosebumps appear as he did. Of course he'd be uncomfortable with my nakedness. We'd only known each other one day.

"Sorry, I'll go get dressed and head out." I awkwardly scratched my head, before hobbling away. I did hear him say, "That would be for the best," when I was at the bottom of the stairs.

I wasn't sure if I should have been offended or not. I wasn't even sure if he was talking about me putting on clothes or leaving. Probably not the latter, he seemed like a very blunt man, so if he suddenly decided he didn't want to room with me anymore he would probably just tell me.

So that meant it was my nakedness. Was it just me or nakedness in general? By what I've seen of Sherlock, not much, what I've gathered from his website and what I've heard from Dim and Greg, I could assume that Sherlock was not good with more emotional, intimate things. Like seeing me in my underwear. I wouldn't spend too much time thinking about it though. There was a chance that I was completely wrong. I'm not the great Sherlock Holmes or anything even remotely close.

Sighing, I pulled on my trousers, not enjoying the still uncomfortable feeling in my pants that reminded me of my new found obsession with my roommate, before grabbing my shirt.

I was out of the house quickly, saying only a quick goodbye to Sherlock, to which there was no reply as I expected. The trip to Dim's went pretty quickly, since I found a cab fairly fast and the traffic was unusually light for Saturday London. I just hoped my morning would continue this good, and Dim wouldn't be home.

Of course, I had no such luck. Instead, the first thing I saw when I walked into the flat, was Sally on the floor in front of Dim… scrubbing.

"Aw, Dim, put that away!" I cried, shielding my eyes.

He just smirked at me, as I shuffled across the flat. Sally at least had the decency to look embarrassed as she jumped up from the floor, pulling a couple buttons through the incorrect holes so she wasn't falling out of her shirt anymore.

"Out all night, fag?" He sneered, the slimy smile still on his face. "You left with the freak, so I guess he's also a fudge packer? Should have guessed it before." Yes, this was Dim's attempt at being witty, and yes, again, we do share a parent. Knowing my father, and his average intelligence, Dim's mother must have been a moron to spawn such an offensive cretin.

Sally stayed silent, her brown skin slightly darker than usual. She should be embarrassed. She should actually be mortified. Not only is she sleeping with a married man, it's also Dim.

"Yep, Sherlock and I, now I'm grabbing my stuff and U-hauling over there right now. Expect the happy announcement by the end of the week." I replied, completely monotone. I just wanted to get out of there. I hoped that Sherlock wouldn't mind me saying such things to Dim.

Dim sputtered for a moment, gaping at me, before finally saying some more stupid things. "So he really is a fag too?" He really has to further his vocabulary. I don't think he's called me anything other than fag and fudge packer since I arrived here, and there were so many better insults out there. If only he took the time to Google them. "Well good riddance, I'll finally have my flat to Sally and I."

"Until your wife gets back at least." I pointed out before ducking into the guest room I'd been staying in while with Dim. I didn't have much, I had no money to buy anything, but what I did have I shoved into two suitcases and was out the door. Dim was cussing me out and saying very bigoted things that would probably offend me if it was from anyone else.

Finally I was free. Free from Dim, and soon my life would be Sherlock oriented, and that was much better than waking up and seeing my half-brother's face every morning. So much better.

My leg wasn't bothering me too much, so I decided I would walk as far as I would be able to. It was such a nice day, and my mood was just so cheerful, I couldn't waste that on a cabbie's tip. I almost felt like throwing my cane, almost, not quite though. I still had to get to my new flat to see Sherlock in one piece.

My walk was slightly awkward after the two suitcases were factored in with my cane. I ended up having to strap it on top of the other and pull that one behind me as I hobbled at a very slow pace.

My cheer soon turned to confusion, because it seemed that every time I would pass a phone it would ring. At first I thought it was just my imagination, but when a payphone rang when I was right next to it, I couldn't help but think someone was trying to contact me.

"Hello?" I answered the ringing phone.

"Look at the camera on the building directly in front of you." The person on the other end told me and for some reason I did. The camera he spoke of seemed to be moving in an up and down fashion, almost like a nod. "Look at the one to your left." It was spinning in a circle. He directed me to another one, and this was turned around completely looking away from me. The person on the phone instructed me to get in the car that pulled up in front of me, and because the man seemed very nonthreatening on the phone, I did.

Another person was in the car, a woman that was texting. During the drive I constantly pestered her about where we were going, but at first only got one word responses and eventually just silence. Apparently I wasn't supposed to know who I was meeting.

I was dumped at a warehouse… This was all so clique I was almost laughable. And of course, when I entered I was met with a tall, lanky man in a perfectly tailored suit. There was one funny part about his appearance though.

"Nice umbrella, Mary Poppins," I joked as I approached him. He didn't laugh, but I thought I was hilarious.

"Yes, I heard you were a joker," Was his only reply, his voice filled with disdain. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

"And who did you hear that from?" I asked, before deciding that wasn't the best question to start with. "Actually, who are you? Why am I here?"

"We are here to talk about Sherlock Holmes."

He was not good with elaboration. "And who are you?"

"I'm probably the closest that Sherlock has to a friend… Well before you."

"Friend?"

"Well, closer to arch-enemies."

"So not his friend?" I was very confused.

"Sherlock doesn't have friends, until you that is."

"We not exactly friends, we met yesterday," I attempted to clear up this up.

"And in that time you've started solving crimes together, are renting a flat together and you have developed feelings towards him."

"It's really not like that." How did he know of my feelings? I didn't even know my feelings. I didn't have feeling towards Sherlock, only lustful thoughts.

"Oh, I know, Sherlock doesn't do relationships. Which is why your presence is really confusing."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"I'm not here to make you understand, Dr. Watson, just need assistance regarding something that concerns Sherlock."

"How do you know who I am?" I asked, not at all surprised that he did. A man that called himself an arch-enemy, stole people off the streets in a nice car and met them in warehouses probably had some connections.

"I talk to people."

"What people?"

"Lestrade, sometimes."

"Why would Greg talk to you about me?"

"Greg and I have an agreement," He cleared his throat slightly. I definitely noticed how he started calling Greg by his first name after I did.

"What sort of agreement?"

"An agreement that has him reporting Sherlock's actions to me," He had a haughty voice that made me want to punch him.

"Why would Greg do that?"

"I asked him to."

"I'm Greg's good friend, and that's not like him."

"Who said I'm not Greg's friend too?" Through the calmness of his voice I heard slight anger.

"I wasn't saying that." I backed off, trying a different approach. "How often do you talk to him about Sherlock?"

"Often enough," He sounded like he was trying to prove something.

Then, it clicked.

"Oh… Oh! You want to shag Lestrade!" I accused, my voice rising. I don't know how I saw it, but I did.

"What?" He panicked. "That's insane!"

"No! You want him in your bed!" I was right, I had to be.

"You are good, aren't you?" He finally admitted.

"No, mate, you're just transparent. You have to work on that."

"I am anything but transparent." He scoffed.

"Oh, come on! The conversation was so easily led to Greg, and then you were trying so hard to make it seem like you were closer to him than I am, because, as you probably know, I am a gay man, and possibly competition, right?"

The other man balked. "I thought no…" He just trailed off.

"I can't wait 'til Greg hears about this," I chuckled.

"You can't say anything!" He shouted, raising his hands in the air, in some sort of panicked position. His umbrella clattered to the floor, forgotten.

"But I must."

"Please, John, please," He begged, and since he probably wasn't usually the type that begged I had to give him.

"Alright mate, but I have to do something."

"What's that?"

"First, what's your name?"

"Mycroft," Was all he offered.

"Well, Mycroft, I will be putting a good word in with Greg for you. I know from personal experience that he has some gay tendencies." I winked at Mycroft, making his jaw tense and hands clench. "Now, I'd appreciate it if that car would take me back to Sherlock's flat, because I wish to continue the case that we got. But I bet you know all about that." And, with that, I turned on my heels and walked out. When I was back in the car I noticed that I never did get to hear his proposition.

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><p><strong>Review! Even if it's just to complain about how much I suck for making you wait, how boring this chapter is or just to say nice things. All reviews about great!<strong>

**Tell me what you think of the Mystrade too. Disapponting because there's no John/Lestrade? Probably and I'm sorry about that too. I have things planned. I SWEAR!**

**Next chapter Sherlock's POV. We can see what he thinks of John... Any theories?**


	4. Chapter 4

**I feel terrible for updating the last chapter so late, I'm finished this one super fast! Please forgive me now?**

**Thank you to everyone who favourited, reviewed and alerted this story! **

**Here you get listen to Sherlock be all Sherlock-y! Enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>Sherlock POV<strong>_

John was a peculiar sort. Peculiar enough for me to invite not only to live with me after just one evening, but also invite him to help me with a case. That never happened. The only time anyone helped me was when Lestrade insisted to be included. Sometimes not even when that happened. I worked alone. Until this Doctor came around at least.

I believed that there were two possibilities for why I did these irrational things. One was that I had a brain tumor, but since I've had no other symptoms of being sick I could probably rule that out. The other was that maybe I was lonely. Usually I would just laugh and brush the idea off, but I have been alone, and while I have Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and my brother (even if I wish I didn't), none of them were actually able to relate to me, or keep up a intelligent conversation. Some might argue that Mycroft could, but I beg to differ.

Risking sounding like an adolescent hipster, no one understands me. While John did not understand me, he is the only one in a long time that could follow my train of thought at all. I also felt no urge to throttle him when he spoke like I did with the majority of other people. I wanted to share with him what I found in the case, I wanted for him to stay with me in my flat that I could have afforded by myself, all because I wanted him around.

It was a surprise such a man could be related to Anderson. John must take after his mother.

Instead of thinking about the case, I organized what I knew about John and what I wanted to know into folders. One of the things that was bothering me, why did he call Anderson Dim? I understood it was a reference to his intelligence, but that wasn't very clever, and John was clever, so it had to be something else.

I would have to ask John when he got back from fetching his things so my curiosity would be satisfied. Until then I would have to keep myself thinking about something else so that I don't obsess over this. I have a very obsessive personality.

My thoughts wandered to early this morning, when John was asking me what I was thinking about and I snapped. I'm usually more in control of my emotions, but I didn't want him to know that I was not thinking about the case all night, instead I was thinking about him. I was thinking about why I wanted him there, and how I'd come to the conclusion that I was lonely. I couldn't tell him that.

Of course, to make matters worse he was just in his pants. He was standing in front of me almost naked. Usually nakedness didn't alarm me, it was just a body, and I never felt anything towards any of them. But for some reason when I saw John's bare torso, his wounded shoulder and just that body so close to mine was enough to make my hands start to sweat with nervousness and embarrassment. I was lucky I have never been a blusher, because if I was, my pale skin would have been rosy. My reaction was so uncalled for. I had no reason to be embarrassed, and nerves seem completely out of place. John shouldn't make me nervous. I just figured out that he was one of the few people in the world I could stand having around me, why should I be nervous. I was so unfamiliar with these emotions, so it was difficult for me to pinpoint why I felt them.

I had experience another sudden emotion yesterday when I was first inviting John to live with me. I listed off my bad traits, and he immediately followed with things I would have to deal with if he lived with me. I thought nothing of it at first, seeing how I had no feelings of contempt towards the homosexual community, and him have a psychosomatic limp made him so much more interesting. I continued to think nothing of it until he came to the last point of him having sexual partners. I wasn't sure if it was just the mention of sex, even though that would make absolutely no sense, but I felt a sudden peak of anger. I did not want him to have these relations. It was possible because I just didn't want coitus happening in the play I lived, but I didn't understand why I was feeling anger instead of disgust over that.

I have never understood emotions, not even my own.

But because of the strange feeling I got over his sexual activities I knew I would have to make sure that no partner of John's made it into the flat. I would definitely be what the teens called a 'cockblock'. I wasn't sure how this would work if he went to his date's house, but I'm Sherlock Holmes, I'll think of something. It was just taking me a bit longer because this area was not one I was very familiar with.

"Hmmmm…" I hummed to myself, the sound filling the empty flat. I didn't like the idea of being alone in the flat anymore. Even though it was just one night, and I barely even saw John, I was now use to there being someone else in the flat. I was very good at adapting… Well adapting to things I agree with.

Not only was the silence unsettling, even if it was always silent, but if John wasn't here I couldn't go see Lestrade. I said I would be here when he got back and we could go together, but I guess my calculations were a bit off because he was taking much longer than I had thought he would. So I was bored! I was tempted to just leave without him, as I would with anyone else, but for an unknown reason I couldn't make myself. I just kept picturing how disappointed he would be coming home to an empty flat. Or maybe he would be angry, angry enough to leave. I couldn't handle either of those reactions.

My loyalty regarding this one promise didn't stop me from being jittery. I have long been showered and dressed and I know was attempting to find a comfortable position on the couch. In my anxious state I couldn't find one, because all I wanted to do was jump off the couch and meet Lestrade. I needed to know what _Rachel _meant. I needed to know. I could solve the case from just knowing what Rachel meant.

"Hey, Sherlock, sorry for how long that took," John announced when he finally arrived.

"Finally," I breathed, annoyed, but, strangely, not at John.

"I said I was sorry, but I have a good excuse. I think I was just kidnapped by a man that calls himself your friend."

"My friend?" I repeated, not sure if I heard him correctly.

"Well, he also said arch-nemesis."

"Oh." That made more sense.

"His name was Mycroft," John continued.

Of course, it was my brother. I shot up from my horizontal position on the couch. "What did that bastard say to you?" The idea of Mycroft talking to John made me sick. Did he offer him money to spy on me? Did he want him to leave me?

"Well at first he said he had a proposition," See? Mycroft doesn't like me have any fun. "But we didn't get into it because I quickly figured out that he wants to shag Lestrade. "

"Well that's obvious. So he didn't offer you money?" Strange of my brother to just let him leave like that.

"I just told him I would put a good word in with Greg and then left. Didn't hear what he had to offer."

"So no money for spying on me?"

"No offence, but if he offered me money to spy on you, I would probably do it…" John gave me a small guilty smile. "I would at least split the profit with you."

That comment forced a bubble of laugher out of my throat. I think I told asked Lestrade why he didn't take the money Mycroft offered him and split it with me. Lestrade didn't take the money at all, but still agreed to do whatever Mycroft wanted. If that wasn't love, I didn't know what love is… Probably the latter.

"It's fine, let's just go. I've been stuck here waiting for you for the past hour," I stood up, grabbing my coat from the back of the couch. It had only been an hour since John left, but it felt like eternity.

John left his two cases by the door, and moved so I could lead us out of the flat to the street where I flagged down a cab. One the way he told me about how Mycroft looked like Mary Poppins with his umbrella. He then proceeded to be shocked when I admitted to not knowing who Mary Poppins is and saying we would watch it together. I now knew it was a movie, possibly a television series.

Finally, it was my chance to talk. "John, why do you call Anderson Dim?" I asked, hoping it was something worth waiting for.

"Well his first name is Dominic," I didn't know that. I never wanted to know, but if I was to find out, I was hoping it would be Sylvia or Dick. "Everyone called him Dom when he was younger, but because he's an idiot, I called him Dim. His face would go so red when I would call him that in front of his friends. He would try to beat me up, but that never worked out. I might be shorter, but I'm not weak." I knew he wasn't weak. I could tell that by his arms, and his chest, and his ability to stay around Anderson for long periods of time.

"Well that was very anticlimactic." I sighed before taking out my phone and shooting a message to Lestrade saying we'd be there in just a couple minutes.

"When I was ten I thought I was very witty," John defended himself as we stepped out of the cab. He followed me into the building, hobbling with his cane. I would have to get rid of that thing; it would get in the way.

I began to devise a plan while we made our way to Lestrade's office, where he sat, waiting for us with a doughnut. "Took you long enough," The Detective Inspector mumbled through a mouth full of pastry.

"Sorry about that, mate, I had to get my stuff from Dim's," John apologized, taking a seat in one of the chairs provided. I elected to stay standing.

"You finally found a place to stay?" Lestrade swallowed, talking more clearly now.

"Yeah, with Sherlock," John's head tipped towards me.

"You're kidding?" Lestrade asked, surprised by the thought of someone rooming with me. I took a little offence, and John seemed to notice it on my face, even though I tried to cover it.

"No, I'm not kidding. Sherlock invited me, and I would prefer you didn't act like it's so surprising that Sherlock wanted me to room with him," He seemed to be defending me in a roundabout way that implied that he was the one that was hurt by what Lestrade said.

"I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just saying, you're solving crimes together after meeting each other yesterday, and now you're roomies. A little fast isn't it?"

John was all smiles again. "No worries mate." So John wasn't one to hold a grudge. "You know how I am in relationships, I practically U-Haul after the first day… And this time I did." He laughed at some sort of joke that I didn't understand. What I did pick up was that he said we were in a relationship. What did he mean?

"Relationship, John?" Lestrade rose as eyebrow.

"I'm just joking. We're just friends. That's all."

Friends. He called me his friend after one night. I didn't even know if Lestrade called me a friend and I've known him for seven years. It was strange to have a friend.

Clearing my throat, I brought their attention to me. "Sorry if I'm interrupting, but I wouldn't mind knowing what Rachel means now."

Lestrade sobered. "We found out that Rachel was the woman's child, but the baby was a still born."

"Seems like a pretty decent thing to carve into the floor." John commented.

I couldn't believe he couldn't see it. "Why would she write the name of her stillborn child into the floor? That's stupid."

"Sherlock!" John scolded me, like Mummy would have.

"It's true. This woman was smart; she wouldn't just right anything into the floor with the last of her strength… Now what does she mean?" I shouted the end, and began to pace, only stopping in front of John.

"What would the last thing you would think before you died be?" I asked him.

"Please God, let me live?" He offered.

"No, no, think about it. Really think!" I urged, my hands coming to rest on his shoulders. My mind, for an unfathomable reason, flicked away from the case for a moment and instead thought about how solid and… nice, he felt under my hands. Almost immediately after I switched back to the case.

"I don't have to," his gaze dropped to where my hand rested on his shoulder. Oh… Oh… Right.

"I'm sorry, but this woman was clever, so are you, but she was really clever, so what did she do with her last bit of strength?" I was just asking myself now; no one else seemed to want to help me. "It's a clue, a clue to who her killer is. Come John, we can leave now." I spun on my heels, releasing John, and made my way to the door. I was only stopped by John.

"Sherlock, don't you have something you want to tell Lestrade?" He was acting just like Mummy now.

"No," I replied defiantly. It was my case.

"Sherlock, either you do it now, or I do."

"Fine, fine, we found her suitcase."

"That's evidence, our evidence!" Lestrade was really just pretending to be angry; he knew I would have seen it anyway. "You're withholding evidence."

"What are going to do? Arrest me?" I just rolled my eyes. "I wouldn't be in there more than a couple minutes, and you know why."

"Mycroft," Lestrade growled. Yes, as much I disliked my brother, he came in handy sometimes.

"Oh, yeah, I meant to mention to you that I met him." John told Lestrade.

Why did they have to have this conversation now? I wanted to leave.

"Did you?" Lestrade's interest seemed to have peaked. Gross.

"Yeah, he said he was your friend. He's cute, isn't he?" Again gro- Wait… John thought Mycroft was cute?

I really didn't like that.

"I don't really think he's your type." Lestrade was trying to persuade him otherwise. Yes, Lestrade, keep going.

"Oh, I think he's exactly my type. He's cute, rich, and connected, just what I like in a man." I wanted to shout that because of relations I was rich too.

"I don't even think he's gay John," Lestrade still tried.

"We'll see…" John trailed off, turning and walking out of the office.

"Send one of your least annoying officers to pick up the case." I told the now peeved looking Detective Inspector before following my friend.

Once we were in a cab on our way back to the flat I decided to bring up some of the things that were said in the office.

"Do you really think Mycroft's good looking? Are you really attracted to him?"

"Oh God no," John chuckled. Those few words lifted a weight off my back… Because… well… I can't have my roommate shagging my brother. "I mean, he is good looking, but I'm not into that pretentious, rich boy thing. I was just planting the idea that someone else might also want him. You know jealousy and all that?"

"So you're not attracted to the cute, rich boys with connections?"

"Well, there's nothing wrong with an attractive man, and being rich can't be a negative thing. Connections don't really matter. It's just, Mycroft seems a bit like a twat," John sighed, looking out the window.

"I see." Good. Good.

"So what have you found out about case from what Greg told us?" John steered the conversation in a different direction.

"Well, _Rachel_ is connected to the phone, which I believe is planted on the murder," John nodded, telling me to continue. "I believe _Rachel_ is a password of sorts, but to what?"

"No idea, we'll figure I. out," John shrugged. "So what are we going to do?"

"Well, Dr. Watson, we're going to text this murder and see if he responses."

And with that, I fired off a text to our mysterious friend.

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><p><strong>So… What do you think of Sherlock's mind? I would love feedback, because I'm never sure how to write Sherlock. He's hard… ;) <strong>

'**Til next time, my sweeties!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Look! Look! Chapter 5 and it's only taken me a few days! I'm so happy with myself!**

**I'm not too sure about this chapter. Not only is it short, but there seems to be a lot of repetition inside Sherlock's head, so I'm sorry about that!**

**I'm still happy about how I got it out, and I'm generally pleased about how this turned out, I'm just worried about what you may think!**

**Also, I thought I'd mention this on my story, because I really believe in it, so here**

**I bet a lot of you know about Kony 2012, but those who don't check out the video on my profile because it's really important. And come out with us all on the 20th of April. It's for something great. Remember the moment we stop caring for others is the moment we lose our Humanity. Kony 2012. Be Aware. Be Motivated. Be Active.**

**Please do whatever you can. Even if it's just posting a Facebook status or blogging about it. **

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><p><em><strong>Sherlock POV<strong>_

I sent a message, as if I was the woman in pink, saying that I blacked out and wanted to meet up with whoever had my phone. It was a longshot that he would even show up, but it gave me something to do instead of sitting around and obsessing about Rachel… or John.

It would also help me with my plan to get rid of John's cane. That was a serious hindrance… To me. I wanted to snap the cane, and snap the neck of whoever caused John to be like that.

Never mind. Too far.

But it was true. I was feeling weird things, and I didn't like it. I'd known John for such a short amount of time, but already I was wanted to protect him, and spend more time with him. I've already spent more time with him than I've probably done any other person, besides Mycroft. But those were forced meetings. I would never spend time with my brother if I had a choice.

"Where are we going?" John eventually asked. He just followed me, not knowing where we were going for the half hour. He seemed to trust me already. Enough for me to take him anywhere I pleased with no questioned asked until his leg started acting up.

That was a trait I liked in a companion. Not that I really knew, just a general outline of qualities in a person that I enjoyed. Loyalty was one near the top of my list.

My mind immediately went to experiments I could do to test John's loyalty. Now wasn't the time for such thoughts so I quickly sorted the thought into my mind in an area designated for further thought when I would have more time.

"To meet our killer," I replied simply. I knew he would have more questions, but I liked to draw things out when they aren't topics that make me want to punch Anderson in the face. Not that Anderson is the only one I had IQ lowering conversations with, but he was the face that came into my mind when someone mentioned that Benedict fellow. Why was everyone in a panic about him?

"What?" John stopped walking, looking at me strangely.

I sighed loudly. I always had a thing for the dramatics. "I said we must meet our killer. I texted the dead woman's phone and told him to meet us across the street from here." I pointed at the restaurant that was just in front of us. "Please keep up, John."

"Sorry, I didn't know what you were thinking," He drawled sarcastically, before mumbling, loud enough for me to hear, "I'm not a mind reader."

"Of course you're not. There is no such thing." I was just teasing now.

I opened the door for my companion, my mother taught me to be a gentleman. At least when I thought the time called for it, meaning when it was in my favour, otherwise I would not lift a finger. I didn't get anything from John, but I felt like doing the polite thing impulsively.

"We'll wait here," I chose a table right next to the window so I could keep an eye out for suspicious behavior.

"Sherlock!" I heard my name called. I knew who it belonged too. The owner.

"Angelo," I greeted.

"Sherlock, anything on the menu, whatever you want, free, on the house for you and your date." The bearded man beamed at John and me.

I didn't bother correcting him, as if it mattered what he thought, but neither did John. He just smirked down at the menu after giving the exuberant man a nod in greeting.

"This man got me off a murder charge!" The owner informed John eagerly, grabbing my shoulder, and I really just wanted to brush it off.

"It was nothing really," I replied. I might have sounded modest, but I was just stating the facts. It really was nothing. "All I did was successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly gruesome triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town housebreaking."

"He cleared my name!" Angelo declared joyously.

"I cleared it a bit." I dismissed, but snuck a glance at John. Was he impressed? What did he think of me clearing Angelo's name? I wanted to know.

"But for this man, I would have gone to prison-"

"-You did go to prison," I interrupted, staring out the window just to take my eyes off of John. Also to look for our murderer.

"I'll get you a candle for your table. It's more romantic." Angelo tossed out, walking away.

Again John didn't oppose the idea of a more romantic setting. Did he just think nothing of it? That was probably it.

"So, who is Mycroft?" John broke the silence.

"As he told you, my arch-enemy." And my brother, but I wouldn't tell him that.

"People don't have arch-enemies in real life."

"They don't? Sounds dull."

"So who was he really?"

"What do people have instead of enemies? In real life?" I change the conversation, not wanting to talk more about Mycroft.

"Friends. You know: People they know, people they like, people they don't like. Girlfriends, boyfriends." My mind zoned in on boyfriends. John had boyfriends, right? Did he have one right now? Would he be bringing this man to the flat? How could I handle that? Yes, I've already started to devise my 'cockblocking' plan, but it wasn't near completion.

"Like I said, dull," I said, attempting to keep my cool persona.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?"

Why was he asking? Was he having the same inner problem I was having? I thought these questions as I continued scanning, head moving side to side. "Girlfriend...No...Not really my area..."

"Alright then..." John dragged out. What does that mean? "...Do you have a...boyfriend?"

I just turned to face him. I blinked, confused about this conversation. Why would he be asking me such questions?

"Not that I'd try to steal him or anything," He added.

"I know that," I answered quickly. John wasn't the type to steal my boyfriend, even one I didn't have.

"So you've got a boyfriend-"

"-No." A short, quick shake of the head to reinforce it.

"Alright. OK." He nodded, licking his lips. "You're unattached. That's fine." He shook his head. "Fine, Good."

Was he coming on to me? I couldn't tell. I felt a strange stirring in my stomach at the thought of him wanting me like that. It wasn't unpleasant, but I wasn't sure I wanted this feeling as I looked at John.

"Until recently, I've said I was married to my work," I told him. I don't know when I stopped doing that, but right at this moment, I felt wrong to say.

"Sounds lonely."

"I was," I smiled tightly at him. I wasn't lonely at the moment.

There was silence again until I looked out the window. My head abruptly jerked.

"A taxi!" I pointed out.

"So?"

"It's just been sitting there. Why would a taxi just sit there like that? Let's go!" I jumped up and ran out of the restaurant, John close behind. I didn't fail to notice that he had left his cane. Exactly as I thought. I knew that the excitement of the chase would be enough to fix that.

"Dammit!" I yell when the cab pulled away right as we approached. "This way!" I shouted at John as we weaved our way around people and eventually to an alley. I was trying to think of the easiest route we could take to meet up with the taxi. I took into account the signs it would hit, the lights, the timings of such, and pedestrians. I knew where I go, and John followed behind me blindly.

I knew he loved this. He had to be. This is what he lived for, and I was bringing that rush back into his life. I was the only one that can bring him this, and for that I was very proud.

People yelled at us, crying out, and I could hear John apologizing when they did, but I paid no notice. My thoughts were focused on the chase, and maybe the occasional John filled thought, but mostly catching the cab.

When we finally caught up to it, I practically threw myself on top of it, before ripping open the door, only to expose an American man. He couldn't have done it.

Frustrated, I just stalked away, John at my heels.

"That wasn't him?" John asked innocently, but it angered me even more.

"Obviously that wasn't him. Even an idiot could see that. That made could have only been in the country tops. Bloody Americans." I grumbled, hailing a new cab. On the way home the only sound was my constant mumbling about how we must have missed him when we went on the wild goose chase, and John's heavy sighs that would come every once in a while. I was really tempted to ask what was wrong, but figured he was as made as I was about the cab.

How could I have let that happen? John must think I was a complete idiot. For some reason I wanted him to be impressed by me, I didn't like the thought of doing something wrong in front of him.

And I didn't know why I felt like this. It was getting annoying. I've known this man just over a day and already I wanted to have him around much more than anyone. I wanted him to help me figure cases out, and I wanted him to be impressed by me. More so than I wanted other people to be impressed. There was something about John Watson.

I ripped out of the cab, leaving John to pay and ran up the stairs to our flat. I wasn't even too frustrated by the cab anymore. I was more angered by my thoughts being constantly on John.

Why? Why? Why? I had to ask someone, and I knew the perfect person.

_Can I ask you a question regarding relationships? –SH_ I texted Molly. She seemed to know the most out of the people I was comfortable texting, and she would be eager to ask any question of mine.

_Relationships? I guess I can. –Molly :) _

_What does it mean when you can't stop thinking about someone and you want them around you? –SH_

_WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? –Molly :) _

_Please just answer the question. –SH_

_Well I would think that you had feelings for this person. Who is it? –Molly :)_

_Of course, I have feeling towards them. –SH _

This was going nowhere, and I didn't want to tell her I was talking about John.

_Not just any feelings, Sherlock. You like them. –Molly :)_

_Again, of course I like them. I asked for help, not for you to tell me what I already knew. –SH_

_Sorry. You like them like them. Like in a romantic sense. –Molly :)_

She was using 'like' in that childish way that teenagers used to describe their infatuation.

_That's absurd. Really, Molly, I will end this conversation if you're just going to joke. –SH_

_No, I'm serious. It's the only thing that I can think of. Maybe you don't think about this persona a romantic way, but you are at least infatuated by them. –Molly :) _

Maybe she was on to something.

_I'll take what you've said into consideration. Thank you and goodnight. –SH_

I got what I wanted, so that was the end of the conversation. I didn't want to make her think she could text me whenever she wanted, asking me things like ''Sup?' and 'How u doin'?'

"Sherlock? Would you like some tea?" John asked from the kitchen.

My hands began to sweat as I thought about what I just talked about with Molly. Could she be right? Did I have an infatuation with a certain John Watson? It seemed ridiculous, but was it really?

"That would be lovely," I told him from my spot curled up on the couch. I hadn't even taken off my coat yet.

"How do you like it?"

"No milk and just a swirl of honey."

He went about to make and even delivered it to me when he was done. I wasn't about to get it, but it was considerate. He sat across from me, holding a mug of his own, and I took a sip, not taking my eyes away from him.

And I almost spat it out.

I settled on a disgusted face instead. "This has milk," I complained.

"Oh, sorry, that must be mine. I wasn't paying attention." He handed me the mug he held, and too the one from my hands. "I haven't had a drink yet, so there shouldn't be anything wrong with it." He took a sip from his own.

I couldn't help but think. My mouth was there. I had my mouth there. We have, technically and indirectly, kissed.

"So," John spoke, making me pull my eyes away from his mouth, rather quickly. "I've been meaning to tell you, you know how you deduced me before?"

How could I forget that?

"Well, you mentioned my brother Harry?"

"Yes," I prompted. This seemed to be going slowly. I wanted him to spit it out.

"I meant to tell you earlier, but Harry's short for Harriet," He smirked.

"Sister?" I cried.

"Yes, Harriet Watson, my sister who has just left her wife Clara."

"Sister! There's always something!" I complained, taking a drink of my tea, which was made surprisingly well. I now saw all the obvious signs of him being close to his sister. I can't believe I missed it.

"Don't worry, mate, you can't be perfect." But I wanted to be. I wanted him to see me as perfect too.

There was a knock at the door. I knew who it was, but still allowed John to look confused, because of the time, and get up to get it.

"Sherlock texted me and told me to bring this here," I heard a familiar voice say. I also heard the rustling of the exchange, John's thank you, and the other leaving.

"My cane?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

Grinning into my tea, I said, "I knew you didn't really need it."

"Thank you," John mumbled, before returning to his seat to finish his tea, and to where I could sit and admire him.

Once again I felt that tingling in my lower stomach.

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><p><strong>Ah! I'm sorry it's short! :(<strong>

**I have to tell you all, that just because Sherlock is thinking like this does not mean he and John are about to jump into bed, that's not for a long time. There will be some fun though, just not Johnlock action for a little bit.**

**Please review still! Please! I want to get to thirty reviews!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Took a bit longer than I hoped it was going to, but still wasn't a month! Here you go!**

**Just so you know, this is the end of Study in Pink, but I have been planning to do to at least the end of Great Game, and maybe make a sequel. I'll see how his goes first. So there is still much more to come. The Blind Banker will not be following so closely to the storyline though. I think it will mostly be focused on John and Sherlock's relationship.**

**Anyway, thanks everyone who review, alerted, and favourited this story! **

**Heeeerrrreeee's Johnnnnn!**

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><p><em><strong>John POV<strong>_

My second day knowing Sherlock, I moved out of Dim's apartment, was interrogated by my flatmate's enemy, chased down a cab without my cane and how more inappropriate thoughts should Sherlock. Overall, I believe it was productive.

Especially the cane bit. It felt amazing walking without my cane. Of course, the moment I saw it again my leg started to ache with familiar pain that I knew was false. I now knew that I could go without, it would just take some time. This was thanks to Sherlock. The wonderful man that is Sherlock.

I seem to be one of the only people that think so highly of Sherlock. While many are, and rightly should be, in awe of him and that amazing mind, it seems many also cannot stand his personality. I can see why. He's cocky, obnoxious and doesn't understand what the normal social conventions are, but that's okay, it makes me feel like I have a place. Almost like a Sherlock interpreter.

I wanted to be more than that though. Who wouldn't want that? No matter how much you disliked him no one would turn down the chance to be close to someone as brilliant as Sherlock, even if it meant putting up with constant insults and barbs.

That would never happen obviously, because Sherlock seemed to being giving off the more asexual vibe. As hard as I tried to convince myself that that wasn't true, I just couldn't. I wanted to believe that I caught him staring too long or in unusual ways, but I couldn't. Because either he was asexual, or some form like demi-sexual, or his sexuality was very repressed. I'd be happy if it was the last one, because there would come a time when it would get too much and he would just explode with sexual feelings. I would be ready for that, just encase.

"Sherlock?" I called to him, trying to get his attention.

"Yes, John?" He answered from his curled up position on the couch.

"I was thinking about what Rachel means, and well, I think I know," I told him. I'd been thinking about it all night, and I think I just got all the facts together.

"Well out with it!" He cried, legs unfolding out from under him. If I didn't reach out and steady his tea in his hand it would have probably fallen.

"She was missing her phone, right?" I didn't wait for an answer. "And she's a very… well-known lady. So she must have had a nice phone…" I didn't get to finish because there was a knock at the door. I went to go get it, but Sherlock growled, a very sexy sound I can tell you, and got up, flipping his now empty cup over on the couch. I hadn't even notice him finish that.

Ripping open the door, he growled again, making me shiver slightly. "What?" He said to the person.

"I'm just here for the case," Greg's voice floated through the door.

"You're your least annoying officer?" Sherlock's tone was mocking.

"I'm the only one that you won't kill," Greg shrugged he stepped in.

"Hey, Greg," I greeted, giving my friend a wave. "Can I offer you some tea? Kettle's still hot."

"That would be lovely. See Sherlock? That's how you treat a guest," Greg scolded playfully.

"Well, we were in the middle of something important," Sherlock grumbled, going back to his place on the couch.

"The middle of something?" Greg repeated looking at me with one eyebrow lifted. It was a very suggestive look.

"Nothing like that," I groaned.

"Like what?" Sherlock spoke up from his place.

We just ignored him. I began making Greg's tea as he stood in the area between the kitchen and living room.

"You guys are just so close after two days. What was I supposed to think?" Lestrade explained, and I could see where he's coming from.

"No, no, there is nothing like that going on," I couldn't stress this enough. As much as I wanted something to happen I couldn't let Sherlock think I was attracted to him in that way. He could kick me out. I wouldn't blame him either.

"I guess it is a little strange to think of Sherlock doing anything like that," Greg nodded as I handed him the tea.

"Doing what?" Sherlock shouted frustrated with the lack of attention that we were paying him.

"It has to do with sex," My friend told him bluntly. The words make my skin turn bright pink, and my neck burn.

To make it even worse, my flat mate just scoffed. "As if I would participate in such carnal activities."

"Why not? John's an attractive bloke?" I could not believe that he just said that.

"Didn't you come here for the case?" I attempted to steer the conversation away from this.

"Even I can see that John's appearance is aesthetically pleasing, but that has nothing to do with what I'm talking about," Sherlock replied. Did he just call me attractive? That made my heart leap. Even if he didn't want to shag me on any and every surface at least he finds me good looking. "Now, you did come here for the case, so get it and leave. We were just about to crack this case open!"

"Open you say?" Greg was mocking Sherlock, and I really didn't like that. I was already feeling protective of this man, and his massive brain, and I didn't like the idea of Greg making fun of him.

I had to clench my jaw to keep from talking.

"Well, I am glad you decided to just give me the case. I would hate to have to have another drug bust. Anderson was so disappointed when I told him there wouldn't be one," Greg seemed to be joking, but Sherlock didn't seem to think it was funny, and I just thought Greg was being rude.

"This man on drugs? Have you met him? If there was anyone who wouldn't be on drugs…"

"John," Sherlock spoke, stopping me. The look on his face and the warning in his voice told me what was happening.

"Oh. Oh." Drugs? Sherlock and drugs? He just did not seem like the type.

Well, Harry didn't seem like the type to start drinking like she did either. Maybe I'm just not very good at spotting these things.

"Now, John, what were you trying to tell me before?" Sherlock rushed to say after my shocked reply to thought of his drug use.

"Oh," I tried to remember. It was really important… "I was saying how she must have had a decent phone to keep track of all those 'associates' of hers, right? So what phone might she have? One of those Smart phones I would think. The ones that have GPS and you can login online. The username's the phone number, and I would think the pink woman's would be Rachel." I had been thinking it over for a while. The thought first came to me when I saw a woman pull out her Smart phone after seeing a sign advertising it that mentioned the GPS.

"Brilliant, John! Simply brilliant!" Sherlock jumped up, grabbing me by the shoulders out of excitement, making my skin burn when he let go, before grabbing my laptop and going to where he could login.

The excitement in his eyes was palpable when the password worked. I couldn't help but feel some pride for causing that with my 'brilliance'. Sherlock calling me brilliant had to be one of the great compliments I've ever gotten. Coming from such an amazing man like him I couldn't help but now feel a bit superior to other people.

"It says he's here," Greg commented as he looked over Sherlock's shoulder. I really didn't like him that close to Sherlock, but I couldn't be possessive of this man. That would be too far. Instead of just went on the other side and did the same.

"He can't be!" Sherlock yelled, jumping up, almost smacking both Greg and me in the chin with his shoulders when he did. "This is wrong!"

"Maybe it was in the case…" Greg tried to reason by trailed off when Sherlock gave him a fierce look. It was frightening but sexy at the same time. I liked seeing Sherlock so worked up.

My flatmate began pacing, muttering questions, once and a while shouting things, as he thought. Neither Greg nor I were going to interrupt him when he was having his fit, just encase he lashed out on either of us.

"Sherlock?" A soft voice called from the doorway.

"What is it, Mrs. Hudson?" I replied for him, because he just grunted towards her.

"There's a cab here for you, Sherlock," She tried to tell him. I didn't remember him calling a cab. Were we going somewhere?

"I didn't call a cab," He growled, just as I thought, and went back to thinking. He stopped pacing and seemed to be thinking something over.

"He's very persistent, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson told him a couple minutes later after going down the stairs for a moment.

"Actually, yes, I think we will go," Sherlock changed him mind. Where was he going with this? "Come along John, we have a murder to find." He wound that scarf of his around his impossibly long neck and waited for me to join him by the door. I did so happily after stuffing my gun in the back of my trousers. If we're actually finding the murderer this time I want to be prepared.

"What about me?" Greg asked from where he stood awkwardly by the suitcase.

"Take the case and go back to the Yard," Sherlock told him, not even bothering inviting him even if it was obvious that's what he wanted. Poor Greg. But I didn't want him tagging along either.

"What is this about, Sherlock?" I couldn't help but wonder as we made our way down the stairs and out of the flat.

"The cab driver, John, it's the cab driver," He said simply, as if I was supposed to understand.

"The cabbie?"

"Who else could go so unnoticed, even by me? A cab drivers always there, but always overlooked. No one would ever expect the cab driver."

"Genius."

"I would like to think so," A new voice said, drawing my attention to a man leaning again a cab. This was the murderer. This man. He looked like anyone else. Grey hair under a hat, face wrinkled, plain close, wire glasses. Nothing very interesting or memorable about this man.

"Cab for one, Mr. Holmes? I'm sorry but you'll have to leave your friend." My hand instinctively went to grab Sherlock's coat sleeve. He wouldn't leave without me, right?

"Then you'll be disappointed, because John stays with me," Sherlock informed the cabbie. I couldn't help but feel satisfied by that.

The driver seemed to be fighting with himself, but eventually accepted the fact that Sherlock wouldn't go without me, and just got in the cab, Sherlock and I slipping in the back.

My gun was pressed against my back, reassuring my nervous mind. I had my gun and I had Sherlock. Those together meant nothing bad could happen.

"Where are we going?" I asked the cabbie, who just peaked at me in the mirror. I could tell he didn't want me there so maybe I should just stop talking.

"You'll see."

I glanced over to Sherlock to see his eyes flickering around the cab, it was obvious he was deducing. What could he tell? I couldn't really see anything important, but I wasn't Sherlock Holmes. What was he seeing?

"I was warned about you," The cabbie spoke, looking at Sherlock.

"Warned about me?"

"I've been on your website. Fabulous stuff."

"At least one of us think so," I muttered.

"There's nothing wrong with my website," Sherlock said defensively.

"It's boring."

"That's only your opinion."

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" The cabbie bellowed.

"Who would warn you about me?" Sherlock asked him, focusing his attention back onto the cabbie. I didn't know how he could sound so bored at a time like this.

"Just someone who's noticed you."

"And who would notice me? I'm not very noticeable." I scoffed at that. Those cheekbones were visible from space.

"You got yourself a fan."

"Who is my fan?" This cabbie was giving us nothing.

"That's all you're going to know." He finished, only muttering something to himself that I couldn't make out. The drive was silent, tension was thick. I wanted to reach out and grab Sherlock's hand, for some sort of comfort, but I couldn't do that.

Eventually, we stopped in front of a college. The cabbie asked us if we knew where we were, and when we answered that we did know, but I was still confused.

"Why here?"

"It's open. The good part about being a cabbie is that you always know where to go for a murder."

"And what do you do? Just walk your victims in?" Sherlock piped in.

"If they don't cooperated, I use this," He pulled out a gun and pointed it at us. Sherlock just murmured how dull this all was, but my hand itched for my own gun. And I almost pulled it, until I inspected the cabbie's gun further. "Of course, I won't be needing this with you. You'll come no matter what."

We did follow him. All the way into the building and up a couple flights of stairs into an empty room that the cabbie wanted to be the last place we'd ever see.

"What do you think? It's up you; you're the ones that are going to die here."

"No, we're not," Sherlock smirked.

"That's what they all say," The cabbie went to a chair and sat down. "Let's talk," He motioned for us to also sit. Sherlock accepted, but I stayed standing next to the table in between them. The driver pulled out some pills and placed them in front of Sherlock.

"Let's play a game," He told him. "Unexpected, isn't it?"

Sherlock was silent, but I wanted to beat that smug expression off the cab drivers face.

"A game?" Sherlock questioned. "Okay, explain."

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle you live; you take it from the bad you die."

"And they're identical." I said, even if it was obvious. They didn't even look at me.

"And you know which is which." Sherlock didn't need to ask questions. He was now figuring it out.

"Of course I do."

"But I don't?"

"Wouldn't be much of a game if I didn't."

"Why should I play?" Sherlock questioned.

"This is the good part…" I cut the driver off.

"You take the pill he doesn't, right?" This was so obvious now.

"Will you shut up? This is my game!" The cabbie's shout made me jump.

"Don't yell at him." Sherlock commanded voice dark.

"Come on, Sherlock, let's go." I tugged on his shoulder.

"I don't think so." The cabbie pulled out his gun, pointing it at my friend.

"So that's how you made them do it? Held them at gunpoint?"

"If they didn't cooperate," He shrugged. "What do you say?"

"No," I answered for Sherlock.

"I'll shoot you," The cabbie threatened.

"Do it," Sherlock challenged. They stared at each other for a long while before the cabbie pulled the trigger. Only a small flame came out.

"How'd you know?"

"You have the world's only Consulting Detective and an ex-soldier. Do you think we wouldn't have noticed?"

"The others fell for it."

"The others weren't us." I laughed. "Come on, Sherlock. We'll get them tested by Molly so we can know which was which." I grabbed both bottles and put them in different pockets so I knew which was in front of Sherlock and which was in front of the cabbie.

The driver didn't say anything, but he did clamber to his feet, and before I could do anything to stop it, he pulled back his arm and backhanded me. "This is your fault. I should have just…" He hissed at me, but was cut off with Sherlock tackling him to the ground.

"Don't touch, my friends," Sherlock's voice was filled with a threat.

"From what I hear from your fan, Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends," The cabbie just laughed at Sherlock, who was making his way over to where I fell on the floor. He reached out a hand, helping me up. I jumped when I felt his hand on my lower back.

It retreated, and took my gun with me. Of course, for a moment I thought he was trying to cop a feel. But why would Sherlock do that?

"This is what a real gun looked like," Sherlock had the gun pointed at the cabbie. "No tell me, who is your employer?"

"Employer?" I repeated, lost.

"Of course, this man is poor. Look at his clothes, freshly laundered, but at least a couple years old. He's divorced, I could tell by the ripped picture in the cab, so he's probably paying child support. Also, he's a cabbie. My guess is that he's getting paid for each kill. But by who?"

"Someone who's taken an interest in you, Mr. Holmes," The cabbie was trying to sound cryptic, but I just wanted to punch him.

"Stay down." Sherlock told him when he tried to get up. "Now tell me? Who is this person?"

The cabbie said nothing.

"Just shoot him." I said. Sherlock looked at me, surprised. "He killed three people, like he doesn't deserve to die." I felt no pity for this man.

"You won't shoot a defenseless old man, will you?"

"Defenseless?" Sherlock laughed, raising the gun and aiming. He gave no warning, just shot, but he didn't kill. The bullet went through the cabbie's shoulder.

"Tell me, who is your employer?" Sherlock tried again. The cabbie was a whimpering mess as he tried to apply pressure to the wound.

"Tell us," I prompted him again, moving over to gently kick him in his hurt shoulder. I still felt no compassion towards this man. Not only did he kill three people, but he tried to kill Sherlock. That was an offense that should be punishable by death in my book.

Sherlock joined me at his side. "Who is it?" He tried again, voice getting louder. I nudged the shoulder, but still the cabbie said nothing. "Tell me! Tell me his name!" Sherlock finally screamed. "Tell me or I will make you die slow and painfully. I know how. I am Sherlock Holmes!" He sounded half mad as he stomped his foot down on the man's shoulder. "Tell me! What is his name?"

"M-M…" The cabbie tried.

Sherlock applied more pressure. Finally the cabbie shouted what we needed to hear. "Moriarty!"

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><p><strong>Review please! Tell me what you think? Want more Thirdwheel!Lestrade?<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

'**Ello maties! This one also took a bit longer than I would have liked, and it's pretty short, so sorry! It's kind of a filler, but has an important meeting in it… So yeah. Read it.**

**It kind of took me a while to write this because the stats were down when I posted my last chapter, so it looked like no one liked it. I wasn't even getting E-mails for anything, so it was pretty discouraging. :(**

**So… I'm going to casually mention this… It was my birthday yesterday, well the 31****st**** because that's not yesterday for all of ya'll, and I got two pairs of DC comics' shoes, one pair with Batgirl on them and the other with the Justice League. I personally find them badass.**

**Thank you to everyone who review, favourited, alerted and everything else.**

**Oh, and one last thing. I've got asked about how this is M, and there was only one slightly sexual scene and blah, blah, blah. Well, since this relationship is not yet off the ground, there would be a lot of masturbation scenes. But don't worry! There is some more M stuff to come... But it's not exactly Sherlock x John... XD**

**Here you go! :)**

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><p><em><strong>Sherlock's P.O.V<strong>_

I attempted to get us out of the college quickly, without police interference, but I miscalculated how long it would take them to get there. So instead of returning to Baker Street and having a celebratory cup of tea curtsy of John, we were stuck sitting on the back of an ambulance where they kept putting a blanket on us. Only one because apparently the paramedics are the most ill-prepared people that have ever walked the Earth.

"Why do they keep putting this blanket on us?" I complained, trying to pull it off, but John clung to it, holding it on both our bodies. His side was almost flush against mine, if I turned my head to face him, my nose would be buried in his short hair.

This position wasn't as unappealing as it would be with most people. Before this moment, the only person I thought I could be this close to, and not feel like washing my skin in acid, was Mummy. That was because I didn't like people. Sometimes I would force myself to endure it for a case, or because it was the normal social convention, but I was never indifference about it, or liked it. John was some sort of exception to that rule.

"It's a shock blanket," John tried to explain. His voice was tired. He had been so full of fire when we were dealing with the cabbie I didn't even think that he would be exhausted. It had been a long night. Knowing this fact, I wanted to get John home as quickly as possible.

"But we're not in shock," I insisted, trying to shrugged the hideous, orange fabric off for the second time, but again John just clutched it tighter. Was John in shock? I was going to ask, but decided the silence between us was much more comfortable, and I didn't mind having the blanket holding us together.

"Good, Sherlock, John, you haven't left yet," Lestrade announced his approach. "I need you to ask you some questions, and there's some paperwork you should fill out."

"Do you not see we're in shock, Greg?" John asked rhetorically.

"We have a blanket for God sake!" I added. My mind went to the common idea of couples finishing each other's sentences, but ignored the thought because John and I weren't a couple, so why would I think about that.

John and I did get out of the paperwork and questions, for that night at least, but they had to have us examined, took our blanket and took us home with a police escort. It was a bit irritating, but at least we got home.

"So what do you think about this Moriarty thing?" John yelled from the kitchen where he was making us both a cup of tea.

"It seems like I've caught someone's attention," I replied from my place on the couch. "And I don't believe this person will be revealed until they want to be revealed."

"So, I'll keep my eyes and ears open for anything related to Moriarty," John said when he came in with my tea. We've really just met, but I'm so comfortable around the man. And he could already make my tea acceptably. It wasn't like Mummy made it, but I was able to drink it.

"Too much honey," I mumbled, sipping the tea. Just a tiny bit too much.

John just ignored my commented. "So, what are we going to do now?" I knew he meant now that the case was over.

"I have another small, probably dull case that I have to work on because I owe this man a favour." It was just a case about the spouse cheating, and I already knew she was, but he wanted proof, so I was going to give him proof. "I'll be going in to use the lab at St. Barts tomorrow. You're welcome to join me."

"Sounds great," John grinned widely. Why was he so excited? Didn't I just tell him this case was dull?

Strange man this John Watson. Strange but good.

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><p>The next couple of weeks were dull, but bearable because of John. He was entertaining and kept me full of tea constantly.<p>

Not one decent case had arisen. Everything was below a six, so I was starting to take the boring ones just to keep busy.

Well, I didn't do that at first. That was John's idea after he found me sulking in my robe for the third day in a row. I usually ignore people when they order me around, but John looked so disappointed, and he offered to help on any cases. I couldn't refuse him. Which was odd because I'm very good at saying 'no' to people.

Once I started I almost couldn't stop. I was on a role. I had solved three cases in just one day, making a new record for myself. I wasn't sure if I was elated by how amazing I was or dissatisfied by the lack of cases. I was just settled with being both. I still do not understand how that one fellow did not know that his wife was cheating on him. It was pretty obvious.

He was currently watching me as I studied a substance thought a microscope at St. Barts. There was a calm silence between us, only once in a while interrupted by my muses or John's attempts at chatter. While I liked to talk to John, I couldn't handle one of his jokes while I was trying to focus on a case. Even if the case was as tedious as the one I was currently working on. The child was obviously not the man's, I mean look at his hairline, but the 'father' insisted on proof.

The soft thumping of two sets of feet alerted John and me of visitors. I could tell who one of the people was before they came into my view, because of the sound of the footsteps which told me an approximate weight and a gait.

"Hello, Molly," John greeted cheerfully, confirming my deductions. I just glanced up for a moment, my eyes skipping over Molly completely, but taking in her companion.

"Hi, Sherlock," Molly ignored John and turned to me. That was rude. Even I knew that was rude of Molly. People don't forget about John Watson, but somehow Molly was able to. "This is my boyfriend, Jim. He works upstairs in IT. That's how we met."

"Gay," I said every clearly, but that didn't stop the other occupants from asking for me to repeat myself. "Uh, hey," I corrected myself when I felt John burning stare. It was his look that meant I did something wrong.

"So you're Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," Jim gushed, shuffling over to where I was sitting. "Working on a case?" He asked, and leaned his hand on the table, directly on top of a metal bowl. The loud clang seemed to surprise him and he tripped over himself, falling on to John, who was leaning again the table I was working at.

"Sorry, sorry!" The man picked himself off my friend, just fast enough for me not to surrender to the urge to throw his off John. He righted himself and the tray he had displaced, before quickly making his leave.

"What do you mean gay?" Molly insisted the minute her 'boyfriend' left. "We're together."

I heaved a sigh before turning towards her. Apparently I had to be the bearer of bad news. "And domestic bliss must suit you. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two."

"Well, three."

"Sherlock," I heard John's warning tone. I was tempted to stop, but if I didn't do this than who would?

"He'd not gay," She uselessly insisted again. "Why do you have to spoil…He's not."

Why couldn't everyone just catch on to these things? Like me, and even John some of the time.

"With that level of personal grooming?"

"Because he put product in his hair? Sherlock, not all gay men do that. I don't." John knew I was right, but for some reason was trying to make this harder for Molly.

"No, no. Tinted eyelashes; Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear." This is where I hoped she'd catch on.

"His underwear?" People were so bad at this.

"Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here" I lifted the dish but found nothing, so the part about her breaking up with him died in my throat.

"Actually, he slipped it into my back pocket," John told her, pulling out the folded paper from his pocket. "Sorry, Molly." She let out of low sob and ran from the lab.

"Your pocket?" I repeated. "Yours?" How was I wrong?

But that part didn't even bother me the most, more than that it was the thought that that Jim character had to put his hand into John's back pocket. I was rather annoyed by that.

"We should probably go so you can burn those jeans. You don't know where that man has been." What if John caught something?

"Sherlock," John's voice was low and filled with a warning. "That was rude. Rude to do that to Molly and to accuse Jim of having some sort of disease. And where did that come from? Because he's gay? Do you think that I must be disease ridden?"

"No, no!" I looked at him wide-eyed, desperate for him to see that I didn't mean it that way. Even though I didn't even know how I meant it. "He just gives me a bad feeling."

"He gives you a bad feeling? Since when do you rely on feelings?"

I rubbed my face, frustrated by this 'Jim's' mere existence. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean it like that. I truly didn't."

Huffing, John leaned against the counter again. "It's alright," He conceded. "It's just… That was really mean of you, I guess us, to do to Molly."

"She deserved to know that truth."

"I guess…" He once again gave into my remarkable reasoning skills. "So…" He started, seeming to want to talk about something else. I didn't care what it was, as long as he was no longer angry at me. "How mad do you think Molly would be if I called this Jim?"

"W-What?" I sputtered. I didn't want to talking, hear, or thing about this. The thought of someone touching John, dating John, or enjoying John's presence in a romantic way made me sick. "I thought we just discussed that there was something off about that man?"

"No, you said you had a bad feeling, while I felt nothing of the sort. Instead I felt as though the man had a very nice arse," John grinned, as if I was supposed to agree with that statement.

"I beg to differ," I mumbled. "But if you like the flat type, them by all means."

John just laughed. "There's nothing wrong with a skinny bloke. I have enough fat for the both of us."

"You're not fat, John," I pointed out. I looked over the man's body and personally found it very pleasing. Aesthetically, of course.

"Let's just agree to disagree on that point. I don't feel like chatting about our bodies like teenage girls." I didn't actually mind the conversation topic, as long as it was away from Jim. "Instead, now that I have a moment of your time, I would like to talk to you about something important."

That didn't sound good to me.

"See, I feel as though we're running a little low on funds," He continued to explain. I was relieved; it was just a money talk. "Because well-paying cases are so rare at the moment, I think I should get a job, to help provide." The moment of relief flew out the window.

John wanted to get a job.

Sure, the extra money would be nice, but I didn't really care much about that. I mean, how much did we really spend? If John just cut down on that milk obsession of his I bet we'd be fine.

Also, John getting a job would mean less time he could spend with me. I'd gotten use to his presence, he couldn't just change that. Who would tease Anderson with me? Who would praise me for my deductions? Who would make me tea?

John was one of the few people that I could spend copious amounts of time with. So much that I was use to not being alone now. No, no, no. Another job just wouldn't do.

"Actually," I pulled out my phone, fingering through the messages looking for one that I'd been planning on deleting because of who the sender was. "I just got a text about a case that I'll need your undivided attention on."

"Will we be paid?"

"Of course."

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><p><strong>Review! Tell me what you think, or just wish me a late happy birthday if you like! :) Just talk to me!<strong>


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